


The Queens Love These Times

by calenlily



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily
Summary: Shortly after the Five Weyrs come forward, Prideth rises to mate. Lessa and F’lar escape to the South.





	The Queens Love These Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tielan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/gifts).



_ “Your Weyr is understrength, though, so we’ll lend you enough odd-wing riders till you’ve gotten the Weyr up to full strength again. Oh, the queens love these times!” And his [T’ton’s] grin broadened to indicate that bronze riders did, too. _

\- Dragonflight, p 280

 

The atmosphere at Benden in the first days after the Five Weyrs come forward is difficult to describe: hopeful and yet tense, energized but wary. The world has been changing at a speed that’s enough to cause mental whiplash. The excitement and anticipation in the air are only heightened by the fact that all signs suggest Ramoth will rise to mate for the second time any day.

As it turns out, it’s Prideth who flies first.

“Get the queens away!” someone yells.

Lessa barely registers the shout in the general commotion that overtakes the Weyr, for she has no context for it.

Then Margatta comes running up to her, flying jacket half-fastened and straps thrown over her shoulder. The queen rider from Fort is one of a few dozen riders the Oldtime Weyrs have lent them until Benden can get their population back to full strength, and so far Lessa has found her an eminently sensible young woman.

There is no mistaking the urgency in Margatta’s tone now, and though she addresses Lessa deferentially, her manner brooks no argument. “Weyrwoman, you have to get Ramoth out of the Weyr and well away! Queens won’t tolerate being around another gold in heat, especially when they’re close to mating themselves.”

She glances at Ramoth, and sees the dragon’s eyes beginning to whirl orange-red. If she hadn’t believed Margatta’s words already, that convinced her. She dashes up the steps to her weyr and scrambles into her riding gear.

By the time she emerges back onto the ledge, Margatta and Luduth are gone. On the far side of the Bowl, the bronzes are blooding their kills. Prideth has not descended on the Feeding Ground yet, but she is displaying.

_ Come on, dear heart. We need to go. _

Ramoth grumbles, reluctant, complaining that she shouldn’t have to leave her bronzes to another. But she lowers her leg to allow Lessa to mount.

_ We’re going _ , Lessa repeats firmly, and though Ramoth’s demeanor remains sulky she ceases protesting and obediently lifts off.

Only then does Lessa pause to consider where to go.

She suspects Margatta has returned to Fort, and briefly considers following her. She could pay a visit to Mardra, find out more about this phenomenon she’s never heard mention of before....

But while that option might be prudent, it doesn’t appeal. It’s possible Ramoth’s distemper is affecting her, but if she has to abandon her Weyr, she wants get away from everything.

Suddenly the image comes to her of the quiet Southern headland she’d explored with F’nor - was it really only a week ago, in the normal flow of time? It seems a lifetime away - and she fixes the details clearly in her mind for Ramoth.

_ Between _ is a momentary discomfort before they emerge in the balmy Southern air. The coordinates she's given place them slightly offshore, for she hasn't seen this place since before the Weyr was established and does not want to create problems by too closely visualizing a space that's likely to have changed.

They crest the jagged line of cliffs that forms the edge of the landmass, and ocean gives way to a landscape of lush green. Ramoth circles in slowly over what once was and will again be the Southern Weyr. The land is as eerily still and empty as the first time she saw it, but the wide plateau is dotted with sturdy wooden structures, and part of the plainland is organized into overgrown but recognizable fields.

They’ve just landed by the lake when a shadow crosses the sun, alerting Lessa to the fact that she and Ramoth are no longer alone. She looks to the sky, and recognizes the unmistakable shape of bronze Mnementh just as Ramoth bugles a greeting.

***

“What are you doing?” Lessa demands by way of greeting. “Shouldn’t you be back at the Weyr?”

It’s hardly the warm welcome F’lar could have wished for, but he reads the shock and disbelief in her expression, and reminds himself that she is prone to react defensively when caught off-guard. This is not a situation they’d thought to consider in advance, let alone discuss. He takes a steadying breath, and considers how best to explain.

He could cite any number of reasons. There are two obvious benefits to a Weyr in keeping junior queens, besides simply increasing the breeding numbers: it diversifies the genetic stock, and helps to keep the rest of the bronzes happy. It would be counterproductive in both respects to let Mnementh participate in this flight.

He could cite any number of practical reasons. All of them are true. “Our place is with you,” he says instead, and Lessa’s expression softens.

“Besides,” he can’t resist adding with a sly smile, “we’ll be better off for being fresh when Ramoth flies.”

She opens her mouth to make an indignant response, then seems to think better of it. Her grey eyes sparkle wickedly. “Are you suggesting,” she asks too sweetly, “that you need the extra help to win us?”

He chuckles his self-confidence, and pulls her close. “Never,” he murmurs against her lips. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t take whatever edge I can get.”

“Ever the strategist,” she laughs.

She’s just begun to respond to his caresses, melting in his arms, when she stiffens abruptly. When he pulls back, he sees her eyes have taken on that faraway look indicative of being absorbed in a mental conversation.

After a minute she refocuses on her surroundings, but her face is ghost white. “Luduth,” she says in explanation, and briefly relays to him the message Margatta’s queen had passed on to her. “Margatta was apologizing for not being able to explain properly when she rushed me away. Apparently a gold in heat can bring on the cycle in another queen who’s near it, and they’ll fight each other rather than share attention; dragons have maimed and even killed each other that way. It had never occurred to them that we wouldn’t know the precautions.”

“We thought ourselves such fine and faithful keepers of dragonlore,” F’lar reflects ruefully. “I wonder how much else we’ve lost. We have so much to learn.”

Lessa shudders. “I’m just grateful to have friends who are so willing to share their knowledge.”

“Indeed.”

Their attention is diverted from that line of discussion by the bellowing of terrified herdbeasts and the thunder of stampeding hooves. Ramoth and Mnementh have discovered the herds the Southern weyrfolk left behind, and waste no time in helping themselves.

Ramoth settles on a large bovine, tearing flesh from bone with a savagery that goes beyond typical draconic greed. Neither dragon was pleased to be taken from the Weyr, and their moods are recovering only slowly.

F’lar looks out over the mass of beasts. They make up easily several times the number of the herds at Benden. “F’nor was certainly correct in predicting the beasts would have multiplied since they left,” he comments.

He casts an appraising eye around the deserted settlement; all looks well in order. The buildings all appear intact, sustaining little damage despite being left to the elements for six Turns. The fields are bent and heavy with grain as the season is turning toward this hemisphere’s autumn. The productivity is impressive. “We should send some riders to gather supplies here immediately.”

“How soon do you think we can reestablish the Weyr here?” she queries.

He laughs at her obvious impatience. “I’m not sure, precisely. Sooner, after today, if that’s any consolation. But we can hardly afford to divert personnel while we’re still relying on the generosity of the other Weyrs to keep our own wings full.”

“Fair enough,” Lessa concedes, though her expression betrays her displeasure with that necessity.

***

Their meal completed, the dragons announce they are going to swim. Their riders watch as they drop off the edge of the plateau and glide out over the water. The tropical sun glints off of hides lustrous with good health. Their spirits are much recovered, Lessa observes, watching as Ramoth arches her neck coyly and darts ahead. Mnementh puts on a burst of speed and stretches his wings to match her pace, wingtip to wingtip.

They have the right attitude about how to treat this enforced day off, Lessa decides, and turns back to her own mate.

He arches an eyebrow at her. “It seems we’ve been abandoned.”

“So we have,” she agrees mildly. “I suppose we have no choice but to linger here. What do you think, have we done our due diligence in reconnaissance?”

She doesn’t wait for his response, but shrugs out of her jacket and strolls over to a large redfruit tree. She pulls down a low-hanging fruit and tears into the soft sphere.

He follows her into the shade of the tree. “I would say we’ve discharged our responsibilities suitably.”

“Well, then. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?” She bites into the sweet fruit, and a trickle of juice dribbles down her chin.

His eyes fix on her, molten amber. He reaches out and brushes the escaping liquid from her skin with his thumb. “Oh, I can think of a few ideas....”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be pure fluff, but F’lar and Lessa were, as ever, stubbornly incapable of relaxing.


End file.
